Filthy Traitors
by monini
Summary: Draco stalked towards her purposefully, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her, yelping, behind a couple pine trees at the edge of the yard. He released her and she turned on him, red in the face and fuming. “What the hell was that, Malfoy?”
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Thanks to J K Rowling for lending me her characters.

Author's Note: Hey guys, this is my first chap fic! So bear with me, and review if you feel like it! I plan to (hopefully) finish this one by the time summer ends, so you won't be waiting around forever for updates that never come.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You have a lot of nerve showing your face here after what you've done."

Harry had never heard McGonagall's voice so low and menacing before. His interest was immediately drawn to the door, where she had gone to let in whom she had thought was Tonks. The kitchen of number 12 Grimmauld Place was suddenly very quiet, as everyone attempted to listen in.

"You know as well as I do, Minerva, that Albus and I made arrangements for such a situation. I was simply following orders," Snape explained slowly, as though speaking to a small child.

"Perhaps, Severus. But you put us all in grave danger by bringing him! Could you really be so careless?" Her voice was rising.

"I was acting on Dumbledore's orders then, and I continue to do so now. The boy is to be under the protection of the Order."

"Absolutely not! Your loyalty cannot be taken for granted after what you've done. He will feed us to You-Know-Who in an instant!"

Draco stood behind Professor Snape, shocked and frightened by the look of fury on McGonagall's face. He had never seen his professor so angry, and to think that it was because she didn't trust him? Because she thought _he_ could put _her_ in danger? The feeling was absolutely bizarre.

Snape had warned him not to expect much hospitality. After casting the killing curse and dragging Draco with him as he fled Hogwarts grounds, Snape had sat the boy down and explained everything. Draco was already in shock from seeing a murder right before his eyes, and the sudden mind-blowing news was nearly unbearable. Snape, on the light side? A spy for the Order of the Pheonix? His father's friend, betraying the Dark Lord? Draco knew first hand what Voldemort was like, and, aside from absolute, world-shattering shock, all Draco could feel was admiration. The Dark Lord was fucking scary, and messing with him was a suicide mission. Snape must be a bloody occlumency beast.

When Snape explained Dumbledore's plan for Draco to be protected by the Order, Draco was caught between guilt and resentment. He was going to kill this man who seemed to actually care for his well-being. At the same time though, the presumptive old man had assumed that Draco would fail. He just assumed that he was weak, was a coward, couldn't do it. The headmaster's complete lack of faith in him was entirely insulting, no matter how insignificant Dumbledore's opinion might be.

And then there was the fact that he was going to be under the protection of the Order. The little band of do-gooders who cared about muggles and mudbloods and just wanted to love thy neighbor? Gross. He couldn't stand the idea of how smug Potter would be, or how good it would make Granger feel about herself, to be showing him bloody compassion.

Unfortunately, it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. As repulsed as he was by the idea of the Order, Draco knew that any other plan would end with his rapid and painful death. In fact, this plan could soon end that way as well – who, in the Order, would really stop Potter from mauling him in his sleep? With Dumbledore gone, what was left to protect the Order from the Dark Lord? Potter? Please. Draco trusted Professor Snape, though. If Snape thought this was the best plan, then it must be. He could not believe that his life was in the Potty twat's hands.

It had taken them several days to reach the Order's hideout. Most of the journey had been made on foot, travelling only at night, through woods and back alleys. They had occasionally apparated, Snape bringing Draco through side-along, but when they did so, they apparated to several places in rapid succession so as to throw off any followers. The first time they did this, Draco found himself spewing his meager dinner all over the ground. It was not a pleasant memory.

Tonight, when they had reached the edge of Grimmauld Place, Snape had turned to Draco and warned him, once again, that their reception would be less than warm and welcoming. He was so right. Draco was suddenly very afraid that they wouldn't take him at all – what would he do then? They hadn't discussed back up plans. Perhaps there were none? Shit shit shit.

Draco fucking hated the Dark Lord. Now, thanks to him, Draco had stooped far lower than any Malfoy in seven centuries.

"And to think I held you in such high regard, Minerva." Severus drawled. "Trust me, or don't. Give me fucking veritaserum if you must! The boy stays."

Draco thanked whichever deity was listening that he had Snape with him. He didn't know too many people who would stand up to McGonagall like this.

"He most certainly does not! Leave this instant, Severus, or I'll – "

"I will not allow him to be fed to the blood-crazed Death Eaters!"

Oh God, please, no. Draco could almost feel himself being surrounded by Death Eaters, his Aunt Bella casting the cruciatus…

"Then take him elsewhere! We cannot afford such risks at the moment – "

"The boy stays."

McGonagall spun around in shock. Sirius Black stood at the entrance to the corridor, looking intently into the frightened gray eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Draco couldn't look away from the intense gaze of the dark man. It was pointed, calculating, evaluating, but there was also something soft in the stare. Was that pity? Draco hoped not, but knew he was in no position to protest.

McGonagall scoffed, then began impatiently, "As much as I appreciate your input, Sirius, this is not your decision to make. Dumbledore left me in charge of the Order, and as such – "

Sirius glowered at her before interrupting loudly. "It's my fucking house, Minerva! If he won't be accepted by the Order, then he's my personal guest. If you're really so afraid of a 16-year-old kid, then you can find a new fucking headquarters for all I care!"

McGonagall's face paled with fury, her lips pressed tightly together in a livid line. Snape, on the other hand, looked calmly at Sirius. The two enemies shared a moment of eye contact, and Snape gave an almost imperceptible nod of gratitude. He might hate the ex-con, but if Sirius would take Draco under his wing, Snape would be able to focus on his own survival without worrying about the boy. Black was arrogant and obnoxious, but he was a capable wizard. Perfect, actually, for watching Draco, as neither would be leaving the house any time in the near future.

"Come," Sirius spoke now to Draco, who was frozen in place. Draco blinked, and then walked quickly to the unfamiliar man who had stood up for him.

Sirius reached out instinctively to grip Draco's shoulder, but Malfoy jerked his shoulder away, treating Sirius to a scathing glare. Sirius rolled his eyes. McGonagall crossed her arms with a huff, and Snape simply watched through narrowed eyes as the odd pair entered the kitchen.

There they were met with gasps and the scraping of chairs as Harry and Ron immediately stood, furiously pointing their wands at Draco. "Stop right there you murderous son of a bitch! After what you've done – "

"Sit down! And put your bloody wands away this instant!"

Harry was stunned. Never before had Sirius raised his voice to him, let alone in defense of Draco Malfoy. Sirius sensed the hurt in Harry's eyes, and sighed, his face softening. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Harry."

Harry regained some of his courage, and tried again. "But Sirius, that's Draco Malfoy! Don't you know what he's done?"

"I know exactly what he's done, Harry." Sirius looked up, and addressed the whole room coldly. "And I'll thank you all to stop assuming that I'm an idiot. I know exactly what I'm doing."

Malfoy took that as his cue to sneer at them all haughtily from his place behind Sirius. He looked from Potty, to Weasel, and finally to Mudblood Granger. Apart from fury, Draco was thrilled to see a bit of fear in the boys' eyes, and he took the hurt in Potter's eyes as a personal victory. The look in Granger's eyes, however, was unacceptable. That soft look in the dark man's eyes was present in hers as well, only this time it was the dominant emotion portrayed. She pitied him. Fuck. Draco was utterly disgusted – the stupid bitch was going to be so proud of herself. She probably got off on being the better person. Pitying him, the evil bastard who had tortured her for six years, must be fucking orgasmic.

Before the pair could leave the kitchen, Remus caught Sirius's eye. The air around Sirius was practically humming from his obvious frustration. The two friends exchanged a wordless conversation. Sirius stared into the hazel eyes of his friend imploringly, but Remus could see the determination behind the plea. If Remus wouldn't back him up, Sirius would continue anyway – but it was clear that a little support would be very appreciated. Remus gave a sympathetic look and half a smile. Sirius blinked his thanks for his friend's support, and left the kitchen without another word as Remus went to soothe Harry and Ron.

Draco followed the man up a dark, spiraling staircase, down a dark, creaky corridor into a small room. A single candle lit upon their entrance, and Draco could see a dusty bed in the corner, a grimy window, and dark green, peeling wallpaper; he wrinkled his nose as he surveyed their surroundings. Sirius closed the door behind them, and sighed.

"Stay here for now. I don't think it would be safe for you to come downstairs just yet. I will bring you dinner in a bit."

Draco took the opportunity to study the strange man on whose compassion, it seemed, his life depended. His hair was black and glossy, coming down to his shoulders. He was tall and lean, with a rangy build and an easy grace that was familiar to Draco. The skin on his face was beaten and weatherworn, but he had striking black eyes and a noble bone structure. Draco knew a pureblood when he saw one.

Draco cleared his throat – making a noise for the first time since entering the house.

Sirius looked at him, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Professor McGonagall called you 'Sirius'," Draco began, "Am I to presume that you are… er…"

Sirius smiled a little, and leaned back against the doorframe. "Yes, Draco. Sirius Black. Your mother's cousin, actually."

"And this," Draco sniffed, "place, is – "

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The ancestral home of the noble House of Black." There was a sneer in his voice as he looked around the room, shaking his head.

Draco silently looked around the room in wonder. The Blacks were an ancient family, like the Malfoys: one whose blood ran through his veins. He had thought that the line of Blacks had ended, and that he, as Narcissa Black's son, would soon be the only one left to carry on their blood, if not their name. But Sirius Black was still alive! Something clicked in Draco's mind, and he looked up at Sirius once more.

"So, when Aunt Bella was going on about her traitorous bastard of a cousin…?"

Sirius actually chuckled a little at that. "Probably me, yes."

The boy was fascinating to Sirius; he was so clearly Lucius's son. Sirius found himself reliving his years at Hogwarts, teasing Lucius and paying dearly for every jab. But he also saw a bit of Narcissa, even a bit of himself. They shared the same elegant cheekbones. Weird.

As much as Draco resembled his father at the same age, the eyes staring back at him were so different. Lucius had always been so sure of himself, confidence oozing from every glare. Draco's eyes told a different story. There was arrogance, of course, but the confidence was absent. Instead he saw fear, incredulity, confusion and, above all, bitterness. Those eyes had seen far more than his father's had at sixteen.

A minute or two passed in silence, each of them curiously eyeing the other, before Sirius cleared his throat, and stood straight once more. "I better head downstairs. I will return in a few hours time. You should probably get some sleep."

"Right." Draco looked at the dusty bed doubtfully.

Sirius opened the door to exit, when Draco spoke up again. "Black?"

Sirius turned to look at the blond boy.

Draco swallowed and stared at the air above Sirius's head. "Your," he searched for the correct word, "hospitality, is appreciated." Thankyous over with, Draco met Sirius's eyes once again. Draco exhibited his incredible ability to look down his nose at people, even when said person is much taller than he is.

"No problem, kid." And with that, Sirius left the room and headed back downstairs. He missed the look of repulsion on Draco's face at his choice of endearment.

When Sirius entered the kitchen, the anxious whispers suddenly died and all eyes turned to him. McGonagall spoke up first. "Sirius, I really think we should give this a bit more consideration. I know why you're doing this, but I really think the situation is completely different!"

Sirius sat down at the table next to Remus, who gave his friend's arm a quick squeeze. Sirius turned to him, eternally grateful for his understanding. He swallowed, and turned back to McGonagall.

"You were there, Minerva. Surely you remember how messed up I was when I made the decision to turn my back on the Blacks? If the Potters hadn't been so completely wonderful to me, taking me in as their own, I probably would have gone crazy with confusion or killed myself out of guilt! And I was dealing with the Blacks. Imagine leaving the _Malfoys_! The poor kid's gotta be seriously fucked up right now. And you lot want to turn him out in the cold! I promise you, he'd be dead by sunrise."

The room was silent once more. Harry didn't know what to think – Sirius had never talked about that part of his life, and Harry had never considered that it had been hard for him. He had always assumed that it had been like leaving the Dursleys – easy and painless, a cause for celebration.

Harry could almost feel the strength of the bond between Lupin and Sirius as they looked at each other now, and he understood that. When people went through serious shit together, they tended to come out of it bonded for life. He looked at Ron and Hermione, surprised to see tears in Hermione's eyes, fixed as they were on Sirius. Harry guessed she had never considered Sirius's emotional struggle either.

Someone sighed, and all eyes looked up at Minerva McGonagall as she spoke up once more. "Sirius. I understand. I do. But this situation is different. You were James Potter's best friend and had always been on the light side. Draco Malfoy is not just a Death Eater's son – he is a Death Eater. He was working for Voldemort for almost a year. We cannot just trust that his loyalties have suddenly switched, and forgive him so easily for his wrong doings!"

"And so you want to let Voldemort kill him? He's a fucking dickwad – but he's only sixteen! What would Molly say if I told her you all threw a cold and hungry boy out onto the streets? She'll get here soon, and she'll support my decision."

To everyone's surprise, Ron spoke up, albeit a bit timidly. "I don't know about that, Sirius. Mum knows Malfoy's tortured us from the moment we started school. I don't think she'd be quite as forgiving as you think…"

Sirius smiled a little at Ron and answered, "Are you kidding? When she saw how thin and pale he was, she'd be shoving stew down his throat whether he liked it or not."

The tension in the room broken a little, Hermione stood up and suggested that they all start on dinner. Lupin and McGonagall stood to help her with the cooking, and Ron turned to talk to Harry. Harry gave him an apologetic look before glancing at Sirius, and Ron got the picture. He grumbled a little and headed off to help out the folks in the kitchen.

Snape had left long ago, so that left only Harry and Sirius in the kitchen together. Sirius turned to Harry. "I know you're upset with me. I know you hate him, Harry, and you have every reason to feel that way. I shouldn't have yelled at you before – you have no reason to understand my decision."

"There's just one thing I don't understand, Sirius." Harry looked up into the sad black eyes of his godfather. "My grandparents took you in because you were my father's best friend. Malfoy is not my best friend! In fact, he's up there with Voldemort on the list of people I loathe. He doesn't deserve your pity!"

Sirius shook his head at Harry. "You've had it tough, Harry, in ways I can't even imagine. But the ferret's had it tough too. You can't remember your parents, but you know that they loved you. Imagine, if they had been alive all this time, teaching you that muggleborns are equal to any other magical folk. And then, imagine that you discovered otherwise. Your world would be totally blown to pieces, and you would be torn between your parents, everything you've ever known, and the new truth that you can't make yourself forget. Even I can't completely understand – I knew from early on that my parents' pureblood stuff was bullshit. But if anyone has a chance of helping him get through this, it's me."

Harry nodded. "Sirius – you never told me about that part of your life. I, I didn't know it was so hard for you…"

Sirius genuinely smiled at Harry now. "Harry, Harry, don't pity me. Your life is already full of darkness and distress – I couldn't responsibly dump any more on you, now could I?"

And so Harry embraced his godfather, and they switched their conversation to lighter topics. Food was soon brought to the table, and cheerful chatter filled the air as warm food filled their stomachs. When the meal was over, Lupin and McGonagall went to clean up as Harry, Ron and Hermione wandered off to go play Exploding Snap. The rest of the Weasleys would arrive soon, but until then, everyone was content to ignore the fact that Draco Malfoy was upstairs.

After Sirius left him, Draco studied the dingy room he was in. He was intrigued by a fine silver design that covered one wall, and went closer to study it. To his surprise, Draco found a family tree, dating back to the Middle Ages. After a few minutes' perusal, he found his mother and his Aunt Bellatrix. A little further to the right, he found a scorch mark where he was pretty sure Sirius's name had once been. Not really surprised, Draco mulled quietly over how his parents would react when they found out where he was.

Lucius, of course, would be furious. Draco would almost rather face the Dark Lord than his father. Not only had he proven himself to be of a weaker constitution than his bloodthirsty father, Draco had failed the Dark Lord, and dishonored his family. If Draco fell into Lucius's hands, there would be no mercy. Death would come, but only after a series of long and excruciating tortures.

All his life, Draco had strived for Lucius's approval. A simple nod from his father after watching him fly around in circles on his toy broom had been enough to send five-year-old Draco into a frenzy of joy. He had nearly hugged his father on that occasion. A sharp rejection and reprimand had quickly ensured that he would never have such an inclination again.

In his first year at Hogwarts, Draco had been excited to return home for the holidays, eagerly anticipating a nod of approval for his stellar grades. Lucius may as well have smacked Draco across the face with his ebony cane; the pain would have been preferable to the humiliation when Lucius had torn the letter containing his grades in two and tossed it into the fire. "No son of mine", he said, "is outscored by a mudblood at a school for magic."

Draco remembered listening from the stairs as Narcissa tried to talk to Lucius that night. She scolded him for being too rough on his son, and proclaimed that she was incredibly proud of him for all his hard work and excellent marks. As much as Draco appreciated her efforts with Lucius, Narcissa's approval meant next to nothing to him. If his father was not impressed, than anyone who was must be soft in the head.

Narcissa had continued to fight for him, even on the night that Draco was to receive the dark mark. "At least let him finish school first!" She had begged, "He has so much potential!" Draco now felt a twinge of regret. He had scolded his mother for her request, accusing her of not honoring the Dark Lord as she should. Draco had always been cold to his mother after such incidences, and yet she continued, always, to fight for him.

She was probably so worried about him right now. If he could find her, she would certainly take him in, comfort him, tell him she was proud. But then Lucius would kill them both. It was best not to think of her at all.

Soon, Draco gave in to his exhaustion. He removed his cloak and spread it over the covers on the dusty bed, preferring not to come into physical contact with the possibly vermin infested bed. He listened to conversation downstairs, knowing that it probably concerned him. He was instinctively nervous, knowing that at any moment he could be at the mercy of the elements and the Dark Lord himself. Draco tried, but he couldn't make out what was being said downstairs, and so drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke with a start to a hand on his shoulder. Draco's hand dove instinctively to the pocket in his robes, where he found, to his dismay, no wand. He had been without a wand since the night on the tower, and he hadn't been able to shake the awful helpless feeling since then.

Draco calmed down soon enough, seeing the so-far non-threatening figure of Sirius Black standing next to the bed, a tray of food in his hands. Draco's stomach growled. He shook the hand off his shoulder, and Sirius handed him the tray.

The only sound in the room was Draco's voracious chewing of the much-appreciated dinner, though you'd never know it for the look of disdain permanently etched on his face. Sirius watched quietly from the corner, where he leaned against the wall.

Sirius looked at him, studying his face. He then noted the dark mark, exposed on the boy's left arm by his rolled up sleeve. Sirius looked into Draco's eyes sternly.

"I put my head on the chopping block for you; you better not be working for Voldemort."

Draco's eyebrows came together on his forehead and he scoffed. "Please. After my epic failure? I'm still alive, aren't I? The Dark Lord is not quite so forgiving."

Sirius was somewhat surprised. He shouldn't have been, of course. It made sense. "Hm. I would have assumed your parents would take care of that."

Draco went quiet for a minute, considering this. "I don't believe my mother would actually dispose of her precious son."

"Lucius?"

Draco didn't answer. He just raised an eyebrow and looked up into Sirius's eyes, which were glinting with hate. He looked dangerous, Draco noted.

Sirius took his silence as a confirmation. He sighed. "My parent's were none to pleased when I left them for the Potters. My mum wasted no time in forgetting that I ever existed."

Draco's eyes went to the scorch mark on the family tree. "Is she the one who blasted you off the tree?"

Sirius sniffed, then nodded, shrugging. "Yup. She was quite the gem, my darling mother."

He remembered the day he left, his mother shrieking at the top of her lungs. He was a traitor, she had known all along; he was a failure of a Black, an embarrassment to the family. She had commanded him to stay, and then ordered that he leave, claiming that he was turning his back on his family, and then shouting that he had never been a Black at all. She had blasted him off of the family tree during one of her "you never were a Black" swings, in a fiery display of purple flame. As determined as he was to leave, teenaged Sirius had never been so hurt as he was when she did that. That moment of being disowned by his own mother was forever seared into his memory, and his heart. From that point on, he had never said a kind thing about his mother. The evil bitch deserved everything she got.

Sirius looked over at Draco, whose face had lost its customary sneer and gone sort of, well, blank. His Arrogance seemed almost sad all of a sudden. Sirius guessed that the boy was thinking of his own mother, and he felt a pulse of appreciation for Narcissa. He gathered, by the look on Draco's face, that the boy actually cared for her. She must not have been a terribly awful person after all.

"She probably doesn't care," Draco stated, too matter-of-factly. Sirius wasn't fooled.

"Draco, if you want, I can find a way to send word to Narcissa, tell her that you're safe."

Once again, Draco opted for silence in place of an answer.

"Well, I'll let you think about it."

Draco shook his head, giving Sirius an irritated glare. "I don't need to think about anything, thank you very much. I'm not some stupid six-year-old; I can make my own decisions. You think you know me, think you 'get' my situation. Well I am not your charity case." Draco sneered, "I don't need your fucking pity, filthy blood traitor."

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell! I seem to remember an arrogant, blond fuckwit with his tail between his legs, cowering behind Snape at my doorstep." Sirius was standing up straight now, walking towards Draco, staring him down, all ablaze with dark fire. "And watch who you call traitor – I know plenty of people who would love to wring your traitorous little neck."

Sirius spun on his heel and exited the room, slamming the door hard enough to extinguish the single candle. He was scowling at the floor when he saw a pair of boots and looked up to see Severus standing outside the door. Snape did not cower from Sirius's glare, but rather raised one eyebrow coldly. "Tsk tsk. That doesn't sound like any way to treat houseguests."

Fuming, Sirius leveled the Slytherin head with the same blazing glower he had used on Draco moments before. "Fuck off Snivellus," Sirius snapped as he strode past his childhood enemy, banging his shoulder purposely against Snape's. "And get the fuck out of my face."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello loves! Sorry this took me a bit more than the promised week. Oops. I'll have to start earlier next time. But I'm going home Thursday night and staying home to see the HP movie on tues night at midnight w/ H! So excited.

Thanks to H for being awesome.

btw, I'm not J K Rowling.

*****************************************************************************************************

A fuming Sirius stormed out of the room, leaving behind him a scowling Draco. The boy listened as his mentor scoffed at the raging man, smirking a little. After he heard Sirius's footsteps descend the stairs, though, the smirk was wiped off his face by the bang of the bedroom door against the wall as a livid Snape barged through.

Snape swept up to the bed on which Draco sat. His two fists fell on the edge of the mattress, less than a foot from Draco's leg. The blond boy shrank back against the headboard as his furious mentor leaned in, leaving only a few inches between their faces. Midnight black eyes bored into startled silver ones, and the older man raged in a low hiss. "I don't think you quite comprehend the direness of your situation, boy! As much as I despise the man, your life is currently in the hands of one Sirius Black. If you insist on angering him and toying with your life so freely, be my guest – but, if that is the case, I refuse to help you any further."

Draco's eyes had hardened during Snape's speech; they were now reminiscent of low-hanging storm clouds, dark and foreboding. He stared straight back into Snape's eyes, unblinking, and did not break eye contact as he slowly lifted a hand and deliberately wiped a drop of spittle off of his chin, his upper lip curling in disgust. He then sneered disdainfully at Snape, narrowing his eyes. "Empty threats, Professor. We both know you are bound by unbreakable vow to protect me. You're far to much of a coward to risk your life by disobeying that."

It was Snape's turn to sneer. He stood back up as he did so, and Draco leaned forward once again. The man's voice came out cold and clipped as he said, "You are mistaken. I was bound to protect and assist you in completing your task. Dumbledore is dead. My duty is done." Snape turned, his travel robes bellowing, and strode towards the door. As he left the room, he turned back to Draco's face, frozen as it was in its scowl. "Good luck to you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco heard the door click shut, but didn't move a muscle until he heard Snape's footsteps go down the stairs. He then allowed himself a moment of panic – eyes widening, adrenaline pumping – before he forced himself back into cool disinterest, and thought over his situation critically.

As angry as Snape was, Draco was fairly positive that his Professor would not leave him to survive on his own in the lion's den. Not only had he cared enough for Narcissa to make the unbreakable vow in the first place, but throughout his six years at Hogwarts, Draco had received enough encouragement and advice from the brooding professor to know that he cared for Draco as well. He would play angry and disconnected from Draco until the boy needed him, and then, Draco was sure, Snape would return to his side in an instant.

As for Sirius Black, Draco didn't see why Snape was so worried about angering him. Sure, it was Black's house, and Black had been the only one to stand up for Draco when he arrived – but that was exactly why Draco wasn't worried. Even if Black was angry enough to forget his little charitable mission to help Draco through this whole stupid mess, he was far too proud to throw Draco out. To do so would be to admit to the rest of the Order that they were all right, and he was wrong, and that taking Draco in was a bad idea. Admitting defeat was not something Black was particularly fond of, Draco was sure. He was a pureblood, after all; it was in his nature to protect his pride above all else.

Meanwhile, a grumbling Sirius had stumbled his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to find it full of red heads.

"You're all being so immature! I think Sirius is doing the right thing –"

Eight pairs of blue eyes and one pair of green turned to stare at Sirius as he entered the room. Hermione, who had been yelling at them all by the looks of it, took a second longer to react, but then she, too, turned to face him. Her face had a pink tinge to it from the effort she put into her shouting, and she was standing, her chair thrown out behind her.

Her expression was different than most of the others. All of the newly arrived Weasleys, minus Molly, stared at Sirius with incredulous looks in their eyes. They looked horrified. On top of that, Fred, George and Ginny had that same betrayed look that Harry and Ron had given Sirius when he defended Draco the first time. They had, of course, been to school with Draco and thus had more reason to hate him than Bill and Charlie did.

Molly stood by Hermione, for once fixing Sirius with a look that was not disgusted or disappointed. She gave him an encouraging nod, approval written on her face. Sirius looked from her to Hermione, meeting her hazel eyes. She had clearly been campaigning for him, but now she gave him a blazing look, as though daring him to comment. He didn't. A simple incline of his head was the end of their exchange, and he looked around at all the shocked Weasleys. With a dark eyebrow raised and just a hint of a smirk, Sirius drawled lazily, "Am I to infer from your stupid looks that you've been informed of the recent developments?" He slouched in his chair and grinned at Hermione. "And you, love! You've been defending me! How sweet."

Hermione went red, and Sirius only grinned wider. She glared at him as she snipped, "Well, he's here now. You may address your concerns to Sirius himself."

Sirius winked at her, trying desperately to keep from laughing as she went even redder, gave a little huff, and crossed her arms. She looked around the kitchen as the Weasleys looked at each other, silently deciding who would rail at Sirius first.

Arthur stood in the corner, his mouth a grim line across his face. He clearly disagreed with Sirius's decision, but did not wish to speak for fear of angering his wife. He raised an eyebrow at Bill, who didn't seem to notice with his brow furrowed and his eyes focused on the table, deep in thought.

Charlie was seated next to the twins, and had turned his head to face them. Fred, George and Charlie had their heads somewhat together, looking intently at one another as though there was a heated whispering discussion going on. None of their lips moved, though; words were unnecessary for the brothers to understand each other.

Ginny was sitting near Hermione, and raised her eyebrows at Ron, expectantly. She even jerked her head in Sirius's direction. When Ron cringed apologetically, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "Oh honestly! I'll do it! Sirius, what the fuck is wrong with you? He's a _death eater_. A death eater! There's an honest-to-god dark mark on his arm!"

Sirius took a deep breath, about to respond when someone else beat him to it.

"Indeed. What an astute observation, Miss Weasley. Ten points to fucking Gryffindor."

Sirius turned in his chair to face Snape, who had just returned from his rendezvous with Draco upstairs. After his drawling greeting, Snape looked around the room with a blank expression on his face, his inscrutable eyes sweeping before landing on Hermione.

"Luckily for Mr. Malfoy, it seems Miss Granger is in a particularly righteous mood. By all means, carry on with this debate, but it is guaranteed that for everything you say, she will have an answer ready, and she will bounce up and down and pout until she's been heard. Eventually, you'll be so exasperated that you'll give up, and when you do, I have every sympathy."

Hermione went purple and glared daggers at Snape, who simply smirked at her, and then turned to Sirius. "Lucky you, Black. Your slow mind doesn't even have to come up with arguments for your reckless decision. Pity, though, it would have been fun to see you lose."

It was Sirius's turn to glare at Snape. Instead of his cheeks turning red, Sirius's eyes returned to the black smolder they resembled when he shouted at Draco. Almost as though to prove Snape right, his brain refused to provide a snarky reply, and Sirius resorted to "Shove it, Sniv," snapped through tight lips.

Snape flashed a victorious smirk, and addressed them all once again. "Regrettably, I am needed elsewhere and thus cannot stay and chat. Ta." He spun around and left Grimmauld Place, all inhabitants of the kitchen staring at his departing back.

Sirius was grumbling under his breath. "Fucking slimy git. I'll wipe that stupid smirk off your pasty white…"

Ginny cleared her throat. "As I was saying –"

"Yes, yes, I know. Dark mark, death eater, blah blah blah. Is anyone ever going to listen to me, or should I just go to bed and let you rant away at my empty chair?"

Ginny crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, looking incredibly like Hermione who was standing opposite her, beside Sirius.

"I'm not saying he's innocent, I'm just saying that he's sixteen and, as such, has made some stupid decisions. I don't think any sixteen-year-old should be killed for a stupid mistake. Harry made a stupid decision to use Sectumsempra on Malfoy, and I'm sure none of you think he should go to Azkaban for his use of dark magic?"

Harry colored a little and looked at the table as a few eyes went to him. Ginny, however, remained unfazed.

"May I point out that I'm only _fifteen_, and yet, somehow, I've managed to have the sense not to join You-Know-Who?"

"Pfff, please, Weasel. From what I heard, the Dark Lord had quite enough of you back in second year. He wouldn't take you if you begged to join him."

Everyone's attention was once again averted from the debate at hand. The sneering form of Draco Malfoy had appeared at the door. He leaned against the jamb, facing the group of fuming redheads and rolling his eyes.

While everyone else seemed shocked at Malfoy's sudden appearance, Ginny just snapped right back. "Ah, you're right Malfoy. I'm sure that you made it into his inner circle based purely on your merits and outstanding magical ability. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he knew you would die in your attempt to kill Dumbledore, and that he wanted revenge on your dear father?"

"Don't you dare speak of my father," Draco hissed. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Learn some respect."

General uproar ensued. Every Weasley brother jumped from his seat and pointed his wand at Draco, their threats to blow him to bits all melding together into one giant, indignant shout. Mr. Weasley continued to observe through narrowed eyes from his corner of the room, while Molly grabbed the shoulders of her two nearest sons, George and Charlie, forcing them back into their seats, all the while glaring at the boy who dared speak that way to her daughter.

"Oh how sweet. Defending the family honor are we? Such a shame that there's no honor left to defend."

"Why you little…"

Even Molly let go of her sons as another roar erupted from the entire kitchen. This time, though, there was no hesitation. Several curses and hexes were shot Draco's way, and though he managed to dodge a few, without his wand he was powerless to shield himself.

Draco immediately felt the effects of a Ginevra Weasley jellylegs jinx, and raised his hand to tenderly touch his swelling purple face. One arm was sprouting bright red sores, and the other was twisting in an unnatural direction. There was general satisfaction on the faces of the Weasleys; Ginny, Fred, George and Charlie looking particularly smug. Draco supposed he had those four to thank for his current appearance. As humiliating as it was to stand there without a wand to reverse the damage, Draco remained outwardly unfazed. He raised a silver eyebrow and gestured with his hand towards himself.

"Is this really the best you can do? It would seem all that Mudblood-loving has diluted your magical abilities. Tell me, Granger, do you leech magic from the Weasel every time you fuck?"

While Ron turned a tomato red at the comment, Harry and Hermione, who had previously just stood glaring at the ferret, both sent curses his way at once. Draco found himself thrown against the back wall – probably by the Pothead, he had always had violent tendencies – and unable to retort, as his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Ah, that would be Granger.

"Okay, that's enough."

Sirius stood from his chair, and faced the angry crowd. "As much fun as it is to see a purple ferret, you know how ashamed Mad-Eye would be of you lot right now – attacking a defenseless opponent. You'd all be stuck listening to that lecture about honorable combat and whatnot."

Sirius sighed and looked at Draco, chuckling a little before reversing the hexes. If Malfoy was grateful at all, he didn't show it. He looked around at the Weasleys, smirking once more.

"And you, Draco," Draco turned to face Sirius, whose face had gone stern. "I told you to stay upstairs. If you want to stay in this house, you will obey me. Now go back upstairs."

Draco only raised an eyebrow, looked down his nose at Sirius and sniffed haughtily, "Malfoy's don't take orders, Black."

"Oh ho ho," Sirius's face was a mask of mock amusement before it switched suddenly to a Malfoy-esque sneer. "This one does. Get your ass upstairs this instant. Go on now, git."

Sirius made a sound as though shooing a dog, and an appalled Draco rolled his eyes, staying exactly where he was.

"If you insist," Sirius smirked, "Wingardium – "

A look of horror crossed Malfoy's face at the thought of being levitated back to his room. Talk about humiliation. "Oh shut up," he snapped, and curtly spun and headed back upstairs.

A giggle brought the attention back to Ginny as she grinned. "Did you see the look on his face? Hah! You should have done it, Sirius. That woulda been legendary."

Sirius smiled at her. "Well it seems Malfoy will be here for quite a while, so I'm sure you'll get a chance to play with him as you wish."

Molly gasped at the clock as she realized it was past midnight, and shooed all her children off to bed. Harry followed suit, and soon the kitchen was empty, save for Molly, Hermione and Sirius.

"You too, dear. Bed time." Molly put her hand on Hermione's back, pushing gently towards the door. Hermione turned to release herself from Molly's grasp, and smiled politely.

"I'll only be a minute, Mrs. Weasley. I'd like a cup of tea before bed."

Molly looked at Sirius. "Make sure this young lady goes straight to bed."

He responded with a salute, touching his forehead, "Aye aye, cap'n."

Molly rolled her eyes and left the kitchen, climbing the stairs to reach her own bedroom.

Sirius grinned at Hermione, a twinkle in his eye. "I'm gonna venture a guess that you're not after a cup of tea."

Hermione turned to him, and answered, matter-of-factly. "No. I'm not. Where do you keep your store of potions in this house?"

Sirius smirked a little, "What is it you're looking for, love? Something to calm Ron? Teenage boys can be quite randy, and perhaps you don't want to deal with it tonight?" He winked at her, fully enjoying the effect the joke had on her.

Hermione went red and looked as though she was going to punch him, but she stopped herself, took a deep breath, and spoke calmly. "No. I can handle him myself, thank you very much. I need a dreamless sleep potion."

"Hah, say what you want, love, but it still sounds to me like you want to calm someone's raging hormones."

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently, before biting her lip for a moment, and then admitting sheepishly, "It's for Malfoy." Her voice lilted upwards at the end like a question, and she met Sirius's eyes cautiously.

Sirius looked right back, trying to read her. She was sheepish, but not in a mischievous way. He wouldn't expect her to act on her own if it were a prank anyway, and he didn't notice Ginny, Harry, Ron or the twins whispering anything to her before they left. He saw something in her eyes begging him to just give it to her, and not ask any more questions. He sighed.

"Hermione Granger, always the compassionate one. You can take it to him, but, you've been warned, he's going to be a nasty son-of-a-bitch."

"I know." She did not elaborate further. Sirius nodded, before walking to a cupboard and pulling down a bottle from the highest shelf. He slowly poured the grayish goop into a small vial, and handed it to her.

"Thank you."

She left the kitchen without another word. Sirius bit the inside of his bottom lip and smiled, shaking his head. It took a lot of self-control not to go upstairs and listen to this interaction through the door. It promised to be highly entertaining.

Hermione, meanwhile, was steeling herself for Malfoy's wrath as she ascended the stairs, wincing every time the creaked. She knew she it would be naïve to hope that he would accept her potion without any biting commentary, but she couldn't help it. Sure, she hated him as much as Harry and Ron did, but there was something about him that made her worry. She was much to young to have maternal instincts, she mused, but the image in her mind flicked back to the way he looked standing in the kitchen before. As a Malfoy, he was obviously pale, but he had seemed far paler than Hermione had ever seen him, with purple under his eyes, and weary veins showing slightly blue beneath his translucent skin. His eyes had seemed more sunken in and, if it was possible, a shade darker gray than they normally were. He was clearly not the happiest of campers, and, as much as she despised him, Hermione felt her heart go out to the distraught boy. The least she could do was allow him to get some sleep, right? Right. She was doing the right thing. No matter how he responded, she would remain confident in her decision, because it was the right thing to do – or at least that's what she told herself over and over as she approached his door.

She knocked at his door, dark wood paneling that was probably once glossy, but was now matted with grime and scratches. No one answered, and Hermione stopped breathing in order to better hear any sound inside the room. Nothing. Oh well, maybe he's already asleep? But Hermione wouldn't let her hopeful self off that easily. Of course he wasn't asleep – he was faking it. She gripped the cold doorknob and turned it slowly, wincing at the loud click it made as she opened the door.

Malfoy was lying on the bed, eyes wide open and fixed on the opening door. He wasn't smiling, but Hermione thought he looked somewhat calm as he watched the door creak open. When he registered who exactly was coming through his door, his face twisted immediately into a scowl. She sighed.

"What the hell do you want, Granger?" Draco's voice was a low growl; he hoped it was intimidating. As he spoke, he sat up in bed – lying down was too vulnerable a position. She was frozen at the door, but there was a determined look in her eye.

"Really, Granger, if you just wanted to peek at me nude, you'll find yourself disappointed. No one should come close to these beds without at least three layers of clothing to protect them from the filth."

Hermione blushed, again. What was it with tonight and the sexual jokes? With a steadying breath, she pushed the door open the rest of the way, and took two steps into Draco's bedroom. It looked like all the other rooms at 12 Grimmauld Place – dark, dusty and smelling slightly of mold. She held out her hand, the vial of oozing gray muck held between her thumb and her index finger. "Here. I thought you might need it."

Draco took a moment before answering. He looked at the vial, and looked at Granger's face, which was still determined, but he could see that she was terrified of what his reaction might be. She met his eyes, and he saw hope there – hope that he would be nice to her, perhaps, in return for her kindness. Draco scowled, and that glimmer of hope was squashed.

"Draught of Dreamless Sleep? Really, Mudblood? You think I need your help to go to sleep? Trust me, I've been doing it on my own for sixteen years. Although to be quite honest, I'll probably be up for a while now trying to get the image of your ugly face out of my brain."

But Hermione, as hopeful as she'd been, had been prepared for this reaction, and thus remained steady. "You've been through a lot, Malfoy. You need some sleep. "

"Aw, look at the little mudblood, still trying to be the better person. You probably think you're doing the right thing, don't you? Think you're going to save the world with one kind gesture at a time? Let me tell you something. You're not going to change the world. The world is dark and nasty, and if you can't handle it, then you best return to the muggles, dear mudblood, because things are only going to get worse."

Hermione flinched a little at the repeated use of the slur, but remained focused all the same. "Just take the bottle, Malfoy."

"No, mudblood, I won't take your peace offering. You can go to bed and wallow in your failure."

Hermione sniffed. "Well, at least I'll be sleeping in my bed, Malfoy. I hope you wake up screaming."

"I will – your face is going to haunt my dreams. Ever heard of a glamour charm? You desperately need one."

"Speak for yourself, ferret-face."

"Say whatever makes you feel better, Granger, but we both know that I'm incredibly handsome and that the only way you'll ever get any is if you meet a blind muggle who hasn't bedded anyone in years and years and – "

Hermione dropped the vial, which hit the floor with a wet crunch. The gray ooze kept the shape of the vial for a few seconds before slowly making its way across the floorboards, carrying little shards of glass on its surface. She had gone red in the face, but, upon seeing the mess she made, smirked a little at the pale blond boy.

"Well then. I guess we're done here. It's too bad you don't have a wand to clean that up… I hope you step on the glass when you wake up screaming. It'd be such a pity to spill your pure blood, wouldn't it? All the evil might stain this nice oak floor."

Hermione pivoted on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her. The bottom edge of the door smeared a bit of the potion in an arc across the floor. Draco stared at it, furious at the girl who dared assume he needed her help. Stupid mudblood bitch. He could handle a little scary dream.

At the same time, Draco hadn't gotten decent sleep since the incident. It was hard to keep his eyes open, and he knew that he was paler than usual. He hated to admit it, but Granger was right – he was continually plagued by nightmares that kept waking him up. All things considered, he probably should have taken the potion, at least that way he could rest up and think of better insults to hurl at her tomorrow.

But the potion lay miserably on the floor, the remains of the vial floating softly on its cloudy surface. Fuck. Without a wand, there was nothing he could do but try to sleep without it. The bed squeaked awfully as he readjusted himself, spreading his cloak out over the moth-eaten comforter, and over the pillow where his head would rest. He lay down and stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to come.

Hermione strode back to her room quickly – Grimmauld Place could be quite creepy at night. She no longer wore the smirk she gave Malfoy, her face now showing disappointment with her lips pressed together and off to one side. Her charity mission had failed. She honestly couldn't have expected any more from Malfoy, but she expected more of herself. The least she could have done was left the potion there for him, but no, she had let her feelings get in the way of logic. And did she really have to stoop to his level and exchange insults?

It actually made sense, the way Malfoy had reacted. He had never been one to admit that he needed help, or to show weakness of any kind. Harry's retelling of the night on the Astronomy tower illustrated this fact. He had obviously been frightened and stressed, and when Dumbledore had offered assistance, Draco simply insulted him again and again. The constant superior prattle was his defense mechanism. In this case, he was probably needed the help she offered just as badly, but was still unable to accept it, because to do so would be to admit weakness. A shame, really, that he hadn't learned his lesson last time. Maybe another dreamless night would be enough to change him. Maybe. Whatever. His sleep quality was none of her concern.

Hermione carefully opened the door to her room, so as not to wake Ginny who was already asleep on her fold-up bed. Hermione crept quietly over to her own cot, and slid under the covers. She was exhausted, and soon drifted off to sleep.

Draco had also drifted off to sleep, but it was not at all restful. He was pitching back and forth in his bed, mumbling little bits of words, shielding his face.

_The Dark Lord cackled as he strode towards Narcissa. She looked at her son, terror evident on her face. "Draco!" But he couldn't move. He was lying on the ground on the cold marble of the foyer in Malfoy Manor, and, struggling as he was, he couldn't stand up. His hands and feet were bound, and he watched helplessly as Voldemort turned to grin at him, red eyes gleaming._

"_Crucio!"_

_There was white hot heat, everywhere. His head was splitting and the flames licked down his spine. He felt his-skin peeling itself off of his legs, and his fingernails ripping themselves out. Tears leaked from his eyes as he felt every bone in his body seem to break. He gave up holding eye contact with his mother, and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing only on keeping his jaw clenched tight. He would not scream. He would not._

_The pain stopped, and he lay limp, tears still coursing down his cheeks. A few painful breaths, and he was able to open his eyes and see his mother, who was also weeping, watching her son. The Dark Lord once again raised his wand, and she turned to him, terrified._

_His wand pointed at Narcissa, but the Dark Lord addressed Draco. "You failed your mission, and now you will pay." He turned to Narcissa. "Crucio!"_

_This time, Draco couldn't stop the scream erupting from his lips._

"Mother!"

Draco awoke suddenly to the sound of his own voice. The robe he was previously laying on was thrown off the bed, all twisted up. The room was dark and silent; no Dark Lord, no screaming Narcissa. It was a dream; that was all. Draco's heart rate slowed, and he noted, ashamedly, that his pillow was soaked with tears.

Hermione awoke with a start. Adrenaline racing, she didn't breathe as she listened intently to the silence in Grimmauld Place. Why did she wake up? Had there headquarters been found? Were they all about to die? Was anyone else awake?

A squeak. Upstairs. Someone walking across the floorboards? No… it had sounded more like a spring. A mattress spring? Someone was tossing in their sleep perhaps, but that wouldn't have woken her so suddenly. Who was in the room above her, anyway? Bill and Charlie were on the top floor, and so were the twins.

Draco. Draco was in the room directly above hers. She had heard someone scream – that's what woke her up. Shit. Now she felt like a total bitch for smashing the potion.

Hermione once again crept out of her room and headed upstairs, careful not to wake the sleeping household. When she got to his door, she didn't knock, knowing he would refuse her entrance. Hermione opened the door slowly, peering inside.

Draco was sitting straight up in bed, his face shining slightly in the moonlight from his sweat. His eyes instantly found hers, wide and terrified, shining with moisture. His pupils were huge, making his irises almost black.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither saying a word. Hermione pointed her wand towards the mess on the floor, muttering. Draco watched the vial repair itself and the potion slowly lift itself up from the floor back into its previous home.

Draco searched her face as she did so, but there was no smugness there. He stared intently at eyes, but they did not rise to meet his. When the potion was back in the vial, cork in the top, the tired muggleborn turned and left, closing the door gently behind her.

She was quiet, but Draco could hear her patting down the stairs, and heard her mattress move in the room beneath him. Once he was absolutely sure she was not coming back, he slipped off of his bed, trying to rest his weight on the headboard to stop the squeaking, but it squeaked loudly anyway. The floor was cold beneath his feet as he stole across the floor and bent to pick up the vial. He held it up in the moonlight to examine it. The girl apparently knew what she was doing – there wasn't a shard of glass that he could see. After rearranging his robes on his bed, Draco popped the cork off the top and downed the potion.

A warm sleepy feeling spread from his stomach to his head as Draco clambered into bed. He felt sleep coming fast, and was grateful, knowing that there would be no more nightmares tonight.

Stupid mudblood.

************************************************************************************************

Review if you feel like it. I appreciate it :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hey guys! It's been, like, a month. I know. But I couldn't help it! What with meeting Tom Felton, and the Half-Blood Prince coming out, I was a bit distracted. I thought the movie was excellent, though! Especially Draco... The ending could have been better, and I was really let down when Bill never made an appearance, but overall, a good movie.

This chapter takes itself a little too seriously, so I tried to lighten it up. Hope you enjoy! -M

*************************************************************************************************

Draco opened his eyes groggily and froze, muscles tensed, breathing stopped. After a moment he realized where he was, and relaxed a little. The unfamiliar cracked ceiling was that of his room in 12 Grimmauld Place; the movement in the corner of his eye was just a tree branch waving in the window. The voices he heard must belong to the Order, all having breakfast downstairs. Of course no one had thought to wake him.

He was exhausted enough to keep sleeping – the few hours he had gotten did not make up for a week's worth of sleepless nights – but he felt uneasy sleeping while everyone else was awake. Draco looked down in horror to find that he must have gotten cold overnight. The mildewed old blanket he had been avoiding the night before was twisted around him, even touching his skin in places. Gross. Draco needed to wash.

He slowly got out of bed, careful not to make more contact with the fabric than absolutely necessary. The mattress let out an awful screech as his weight shifted, and Draco held his breath for another moment, waiting anxiously for someone or something to hear him, open the door and kill him. After a few uneventful seconds full of only the sounds of people chatting amicably downstairs, Draco finished extracting himself from his bed, and stood up on the floor.

During the week prior to arriving here at Grimmauld Place, Draco had had no time to wash. The disgusting bed plus a week depending purely on scourgify for hygiene left him sorely in need of a shower. From the sound of it, most of the inhabitants of the house were currently downstairs, which meant that the bathroom on this floor was blessedly empty, and Draco could not pass up the opportunity.

He opened his door a crack and peered out into the hallway. Empty. He walked quickly but silently down the corridor, glancing into every doorway until he found it. The bathroom. Excellent.

The door didn't squeak as he pushed it open, and after it was closed and locked, Draco looked around the tiny bathroom. The tiles were a deep green, a Slytherin green, with black ceramics and tarnished silver fixtures. The counter was cluttered, but, to Draco's surprise, not grimy. Even Gryffindors refused to live in filth, apparently. Who knew?

After picking out a bottle of male shampoo and the best quality shower gel he could find in the varied collection under the sink, Draco stripped and stepped into the shower.

About ten minutes later, a wet, clean Draco, pinkish from the hot water, pulled back the shower curtain, and pulled a nondescript towel from the shelf in the corner. Wrapping himself in it, he leaned over the sink and wiped at the foggy mirror.

Staring back at him was a pale, thin boy, who, despite his few hours rest, still had dark circles under his eyes. His fair hair was plastered to his head and dripping down into the sink. He looked around him. Using someone else's shampoo was one thing, but using another's toothbrush was something else entirely – Draco contented himself with borrowing someone's mouthwash, and rinsing several times.

He then turned to examine his clothes. He loathed the idea of putting them on again, now that he was clean and they were still desperately dirty. Without a change of clothes or a wand, however, Draco really had no choice. Unless…

Draco pressed an ear to the door and listened for the presence of other people in the hallway. Hearing nothing, he cracked open the door for a final check, then ran to his room as quietly as he could. Nothing could be more humiliating than being caught in a towel by Scarhead or, worse, the mudblood.

Safely in his room with the door closed once again, Draco opened up the top drawer of a dusty dresser in the corner. To his immense relief, Draco found clothing, male clothing, decidedly old but of good quality.

Dressed in a pair of trousers and a button-down shirt under a pair of plain black robes, Draco returned to the bathroom to retrieve his dirty clothing. He looked in the mirror and saw that the outfit was a little too big for him. Draco wondered whether he was borrowing Sirius's old clothes, or those of his brother, Regulus, who had been next to Sirius's scorch mark on the family tree. Whoever had owned these clothes had been about Draco's height, but a little bulkier. Not that that said much – the normally slender Draco was currently underfed and overstressed and therefore quite thin.

It didn't matter, really. What did matter was how hungry Draco was. He brought his old clothing back to his room and made his way downstairs, unsure of what to expect.

Thankfully, the Golden Trio was absent from the kitchen. Professor Lupin sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee, and talking to a fairly good-looking man in his late twenties with a head of long, shockingly red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Must be one of the older Weasley brothers, Draco thought. Though he'd prefer not to face any of the Weasley children, at least this one hadn't known him in school, and was, therefore, less likely to hex him on sight.

Draco walked into the room quietly, and the two men at the table looked up at him. After studying him for a few seconds, Lupin spoke. "Morning, Malfoy."

Draco nodded in return. "Professor."

Molly Weasley spun around. "Oh, you're up! I hope we didn't wake you – I told them all to be quiet this morning, goodness knows you need your sleep, but you know how they are. You must be hungry. Sit! Sit. I'll make you some eggs."

Unsure of what to say, Draco simply nodded and sat at the table, in the chair furthest from Lupin and Weasley. Now seated, Draco realized how tired he still was. His eyes drooped and he stifled a yawn, before jerking up when a steaming plate of eggs and bacon was placed in front of him. Followed by a plate of toast, and a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Coffee, dear?"

A few seconds passed before Draco realized he was expected to respond. He looked up at the kind woman, who was a little red in the face from the heat of the stove.

"Yes." Draco paused, then added, "Thank you."

"Oh you're welcome dear. Let me know if you need anything else. I'll just be in the next room."

She swept through the doorway, leaving the three men alone in the kitchen.

As much as he wanted to wolf down his food as fast as he could, Draco felt a little self-conscious doing so in front of the others. Slowly, properly, he began to eat, glancing at the two men every bite or so. They didn't continue their conversation, but, thankfully, they weren't staring at Draco, or questioning him either.

About halfway through his eggs, Draco heard heavy footsteps galloping down the stairs. Potty, Weasel and Frizzhead appeared in the doorway, and stopped suddenly upon seeing him.

They stared, and Draco stared back. Potter's face showed shock, Weasel's face was turning red with anger, and, fuck, he must look worse than he thought, because Frizzy's eyes were filled with concern.

"You know, Mum was hushing us all morning, but you still look like you haven't slept in a year, Ferret. What's the matter? Afraid of the dark?" Ron took a step forward, gaining confidence.

Pothead joined him, giving Malfoy a dark glare. "Or did the guilt keep you up? I bet Dumbledore's ghost haunts your bedside."

Ron turned to Harry, "I bet he was up all night in a cold sweat from nightmares of Azkaban and dementors." His voice went up an octave. "'No! Not my Daddy! Oh, please don't suck my pathetic ferret-ass soul!'"

Draco's cold glare turned icy with rage. His hard, dark eyes turned on Granger's, furious. She fucking told them. The little bitch.

She turned away from him, addressing her friends sternly. "Oh, grow up you two. You realize the more time you waste here, the more practice time you're giving Charlie and the twins."

Draco was confused for a moment, before he noticed that Pothead and Weasel both carried broomsticks. Backyard quidditch, perhaps? He hoped the twins and Charlie kicked Potty and Weasel's asses. Little bastards only ever won on luck, they had no real skill, and yet they strutted around arrogantly as if they ruled the bloody pitch.

Ron chuckled. "As if. They have no chance against the Dream Team."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but followed the two boys, glancing back at Draco on her way out the door. Draco heard the back door open and close, and waited another thirty seconds before getting up from his plate, and following them outside.

The boys were in the air, flying around with Ginny and the twins, and a redheaded man who must be Charlie. Just as he'd hoped, Granger was standing alone on the sideline, unnoticed by the figures whizzing several yards above her head.

Draco stalked towards her purposefully, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her, yelping, behind a couple pine trees at the edge of the yard.

He released her and she turned on him, red in the face and fuming.

"What the hell was that, Malfoy?"

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that?"

Hermione's eyebrows drew together in confusion before her eyes turned cold and she shook her head at him condescendingly. "And you're a lousy bastard, Malfoy, but I don't resort to physical assault to inform you of it."

He ignored her. "How the hell am I supposed to live that down? Hm? They will never fucking forget and they'll drag it back up whenever they have nothing else to say. It's humiliating enough to be forced to live in the same house as you all without them knowing all the ways that I'm fucked up right now."

Hermione's cold mask thawed into confusion once more. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"You fucking well know what I'm talking about. Don't fucking lie!"

"Well excuse me. I am not 'fucking lying', and we are done here."

She turned and stalked off.

Draco shouted after her, "Well if you're so honest, tell me this: how on earth did Weasley know I couldn't sleep?"

She turned around again, this time sneering. "Please. Have you looked in a mirror? How could he not know you couldn't sleep?"

Draco's voice lowered to a growl. "How did he know _why_ I couldn't sleep?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow before comprehension dawned on her face. She stared at Draco incredulously, her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth slightly open. She squinted one eye, and asked, "You think I told him?"

Draco raised his eyebrows at her. Duh. Stupid bitch.

"Well I didn't."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you did, you lying, backstabbing mudblood!"

Hermione looked affronted, then huffed. "Unlike you, I have enough self-respect that I don't have to see others in misery to feel good about myself. I had no reason to tell, before, but believe me, at the next chance I get, I will. You're such a bloody bastard, Malfoy, you know that?" The further along she got in her speech, the more her voice shook, and as she turned away and stalked back towards the quidditch game, Draco saw her hand go up to wipe her eyes.

Maybe she really was telling the truth. Oh well. Anyone would have assumed the same thing in his position. He couldn't be blamed.

As Draco emerged from behind the trees, he was greeted with catcalls from the players on broomsticks.

"Aw, lover's spat?"

Hermione glared up at Fred, who was now chanting "Draco and Hermione sitting in a tree…" and blowing kisses toward the fuming pair. Neither noticed a red-faced Ron swinging his beater's bat until an angry bludger came hurtling towards them. Hermione ducked, but it missed her by a few yards. Clearly, its target was Draco.

Without a wand, broomstick or bat, Draco was really quite defenseless. The only thing he could do was run, and so he did. He ran in zigzags and around a tree while the quidditch players howled with laughter.

Glancing around, Draco spotted the pile of firewood and made a beeline for it. He snatched up a sturdy log, spun to face the bludger, and smacked it as hard as he could. It wasn't until after he hit it that Draco realized his eyes had been closed. He hoped it didn't hit Granger.

Laughter stopped momentarily as Ron was forced to spin on his broom to avoid the speeding bludger. Ronald went red in the face, again, and the laughter started up again. There was applause coming from the other side of the field.

"Nice arm, Malfoy!" Called Fred, who was now circling above the blond boy.

George joined him. "Yeah! Next game, we call Malfoy for our team! You can be our designated Ron-basher!"

Charlie laughed, "Hold on a second; we can't just take away Hermione's snogging buddy! Oy, Hermione! Which of the twins do you want in exchange for Draco?"

Hermione blushed hard, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Oh, don't embarrass her!" scolded Fred. "Everyone knows she secretly fancies me!" He batted his eyelashes in her direction, waving flirtatiously.

Hermione rolled her eyes now, trying not to laugh.

Draco just stood watching them all, smirking at Granger, who looked over at him for a minute, before looking back up at the twins.

Fred continued, "Of course, trading me for Malfoy means our team taking a serious hit in the handsomeness department."

Draco snorted, and looked up as Charlie flew directly over him, shaking his head at Fred.

"You wish! This team could use a little albino, Slytherin charm. The only thing uglier than your face is you and George together!"

"Hey!" The twins shot towards Charlie, who sped off in another direction, sticking his tongue out behind him.

Allowing himself a small, amused smile, Draco turned and headed back inside, leaving the rowdy brothers to battle it out.

He stepped into the kitchen and noticed Lupin and Weasley eyeing him, smirks on their faces. He strode through the kitchen and headed towards the stairs when someone burst through the front door.

Draco spun around to see Lupin and Weasley on their feet, wands out, and Snape striding in the door towards the kitchen, focused, hurried, with his robes billowing out behind him. When he reached the kitchen, Snape addressed the two men who had risen upon his arrival.

"Little Hangleton Cemetery. Now."

With that, he spun on his heel and strode back to the door, disapparating as soon as he hit the border.

Lupin sprang into action, rushing past Draco on the stairs, shouting back to the redhead in the kitchen.

"Bill, tell the ones outside. I'll get the adults upstairs. We leave immediately. Go!"

Bill ran through the backdoor, letting it slam behind him. Draco could hear him shout outside, and heard hurried voices upstairs. Within the minute, every inhabitant of Grimmauld Place was in the kitchen, and then, in a flurry, they were gone, every one of them rushed through the front door and disapparated.

Draco was still frozen in the place he stood when Snape had made his dramatic appearance. His eyes were wide and confused, and adrenaline pounded through his veins. What the hell had just happened? Was the Dark Lord about to attack the house? If such a thing were to happen, would anyone bother to fucking tell him what was going on, or would they just leave him to die a guaranteed death?

A sigh. Another jolt of adrenaline shot through Draco's veins as he turned towards the sound. Sirius Black stood leaning against the stove, watching Draco, who was still jittery, but calming down. If they were in imminent danger, they wouldn't have left Sirius behind. They all loved him, didn't they?

"You-know-who has called a gathering of his Death Eaters at the Little Hangleton cemetery. The Order has gone to attack them. Element of surprise, you know? It's been planned for weeks, but they never knew where or when the Death Eaters would gather."

Draco continued to stare at the man, slowly processing his explanation.

"So Snape just informed them of its location?"

Sirius nodded.

"But, now he'll be late! The Dark Lord will be angry, and when the Order attacks, he'll know! He'll kill him!" Draco's eyes went wide with fear for his mentor.

Sirius gave him a half-smile. "I don't think so. Snape is incredibly good at this. If he wasn't, he would have been dead years ago."

Draco looked down, considering this. It was a good point. Still, it was hard to imagine anyone getting away with such traitorous behavior towards the Dark Lord. He knew everything.

"I see you found my old robes."

Draco was pulled out of his trance by this change in topic. "Oh, yeah. I suppose." Draco stifled another yawn.

"Go sleep, Draco. It will be quiet here for a while, and I won't be good company."

"Why don't you go with them?" Draco wondered if Sirius was left behind to babysit him. That was a rather humiliating thought; if it was true, he felt bad for the man.

"I'm a fugitive, as you know. They don't like me going out because if the Ministry shows up, I'll be back in Azkaban." He added under his breath, "Because, you know, being locked up in Azkaban is really so much different than being locked up here."

Draco sensed, by the bitterness emanating from Sirius in waves, that he touched on a sore subject. He had no inclination to stick around, now that this was awkward.

"I'll go to bed."

Sirius nodded at him, distractedly, and began pacing back and forth in the kitchen.

Four strides to the counter, four back to the door. Sirius watched his feet hitting the tiled floor: one, two, three, four. Harry is okay. If anything happened, he would feel it, right? Breathe in, breathe out. Everything was fine. No one was hurt. One, two, three, four. Everything was going smoothly. It was.

_A flash of green light. Harry, on the ground, right arm outstretched, wand lying a few inches away. Glasses askew, just as Prongs's had been…_

No. Everything was fine. Breathe.

_A dark mark in the distance, green and ghostly. No. The roar of the motorbike as Sirius accelerated. No, it couldn't be…_

The front door slammed open, and Sirius immediately snapped to attention, running towards it. A large figure appeared, cloaked in black, staggering in pain. The figure pulled its hood down, and a pale face slick with sweat appeared. Black eyes stared back.

"Snape!" Sirius rushed forward to offer the man his arm.

Snape refused the assistance, lurching past him towards the kitchen, clutching his side.

Sirius frowned a little, but refrained from rolling his eyes. Now was not the time for pride.

He walked quickly past him into the kitchen, pulling out a chair. "What happened?"

Falling heavily into the chair with a grunt of pain, Snape bit out an answer. "Someone got carried away. I make a convincing Death Eater." He released the pressure on his side for a moment, before hissing and pressing back again. Something red began seeping through the black robes onto his hands.

"Was it Harry? If it was, I wouldn't be so sure it was an accident." The corner of Sirius's mouth turned up a little, one eyebrow raised.

"Not Potter. Weasley. Fred… George…"

That made sense. The twins threw particularly strong curses, and by the amount of blood now dripping between Snape's fingers, he had been hit pretty hard.

On the staircase, Draco's eyes were wide with horror, his imagination running wild. He heard the front door from his bedroom, and crept down the stairs to see who had arrived. Hearing Professor Snape, Draco stayed to listen in. Someone got carried away? What did that mean? Draco heard a low moan – unmistakably Snape, unmistakably in pain. How hurt was he? Draco was petrified with fear for his mentor, unable to move from his crouched position on the stairs.

Another hiss. Snape's face twisted in a grimace as he switched the hand holding his wound and fished around in his robes with the other, pulling out his wand.

"I'll do it. What were you hit with?"

"I'm fine." Snape began mumbling a countercurse, but the bleeding didn't slow. He tried another, no avail.

He was losing a lot of blood. Sirius stood. "That's not working. I have dittany." He turned, and headed for the potions cabinet, returning with a few vials and a small cauldron.

Sirius lit a flame beneath and began pouring water into the cauldron. He was grinding dittany root into a soaking bag when Snape spoke up.

"I'll do it." He started to stand.

"No. Don't be stupid. I can do it. Steep the dittany, adding snake oil at the first and third minute, correct?"

Snape looked at Sirius. He wasn't used to trusting other people with potions. As it was, though, he was losing blood fast. The non-injured man could probably brew it faster.

The potions master pursed his lips. "Add the snake oil on the second and third minute. It's stronger."

Sirius glanced up from his work. His eyes were on Snape's, but his focus was elsewhere. Snape could see his thoughts whirring, calculating, analyzing the suggestion. Snape was the potions master, goddamn it. Why wouldn't he just accept instruction without question?

Sirius's black eyebrows came toward each other slightly. He was confused.

"But… won't it congeal?"

Snape was surprised. Black apparently wasn't a complete failure at potions like most Gryffindors were. Must be his Slytherin blood.

"Do you have a mandrake pod?"

Sirius's eyes cleared and his head raised a little as he understood. His thoughts stopped spinning, now following a straight, clear path. His mouth turned up a bit at both ends; the shadow of a smile.

"Ah. That would work, wouldn't it?" Mandrake dissolved snake oil. "Painkiller, too. That's very clever."

Snape's eyebrows raised just a fraction. The other man had just worked out the potions theory on his own, quickly and smoothly. People weren't often competent enough to appreciate Snape's own talent. A pleasant surprise.

Sirius fell to his work, silently, efficiently. His skilled hands did not tremble and his nimble fingers quickly diced the mandrake root into perfectly even, sliver-thin pieces. His movements were fast, but not hurried – confident, precise.

Every thirty seconds or so, his eyes would look up from his work to meet Snape's. They weren't questioning or unsure. He was not looking up for assistance, but to monitor Snape's condition. Sirius didn't seem overly concerned or emotional, simply assessing the situation, his lips in a grim line. Then his eyes would return to his potion, and Snape would continue his observation.

Draco listened to the sounds of potion-making, breathing deeply in hopes that his heart would slow its frantic beating. Snape would be alright; clearly, Black knew what he was doing, or Snape would be correcting him, snidely, by now.

Sirius added the mandrake, and the steam turned a pale green color, exactly the correct shade. Snape had no doubt that it was perfectly brewed, and something settled deep in his chest. He was relieved, perhaps. And, maybe, he was grateful that it had been Sirius here at headquarters, just a little. Anyone else would surely have brewed it imperfectly, more slowly; Snape could have done it himself, of course, but perhaps… perhaps it was better this way.

Sucking in a breath, Snape slowly let go of his side, and peeled back his torn robes as Sirius made his way over, a small vial in hand. He placed it on the table beside Snape, and leaned down to take over peeling back the robes. Two pairs of dark eyes met for a moment, before Snape silently let out a breath and pulled his hands back, tentatively placing his trust in Sirius Black.

The robes were soaked with warm, sticky blood, the flesh beneath them mangled and tortured. Sirius's rough, strong hands gripped the fabric and tore it further to allow better access to the long wound.

The wound tore violently from Snape's back on the left side, right beneath his ribcage, around and across the front to an inch below his navel. There was so much blood that the pale skin beneath was stained everywhere with red. His torso was lean and wiry, all bone and sinew. Sirius had a fleeting impression of a dog, mean and abused, bred for fighting.

Snape's tensed muscles trembled slightly at Sirius's touch. His arm came forward, and Sirius watched as he carefully used his sleeve to wipe away some of the blood. The skin that was revealed was pale, goosebumped and clammy, several old scars raised and creased its surface. As Sirius looked on, the pale skin became slick with cold sweat once again. He looked up at Snape's face; it was dripping, a few strands of black hair stuck to his forehead. The muscles in his face were frozen in a painful grimace, his jaw tightly clenched.

Black eyes bored into black once more, and, receiving a curt nod from Snape, Sirius began dripping the essence of dittany onto the wound. Each drop of potion sealed the open gashes, leaving a layer of thin pink skin. After about a minute of careful dripping, Snape was no longer bleeding, but the curse left a nasty red welt across his abdomen.

Sirius leaned back slowly, his eyes on Snape's face. Snape didn't meet his gaze. He closed his eyes as his whole body slowly relaxed and his breathing evened out.

"Scourgify. Reparo."

Sirius's quiet voice cleaned and repaired Snape's robes. Snape opened his eyes and looked up at him.

"Thank you, Sirius."

Sirius held his gaze for another moment, before nodding. "Sure."

Healed, Snape made to get up from his chair, but Sirius placed a strong hand on his shoulder. "Sit, mate. Just sit there for a minute."

Snape frowned a little, but obeyed. He watched Sirius as he gathered together his potions materials and returned them to their cabinet. The room was silent as Sirius resumed his previous pacing.

The front door crashed open once again, and several pairs of feet clambered through the foyer. Sirius was out of the kitchen in a flash, greeting the returning Order members. Snape slowly stood, listening as Mrs. Black screeched and was promptly silenced. He made his way to the door, leaning against the jamb as he watched the commotion.

Sirius embraced Lupin, and then Harry, his eyes relieved as each new person returned, but quickly filling with worry again, staring at the door. "Anyone hurt?"

Draco stood and took a few steps down the stairs. Their voices had to travel a little farther to him now, as they were two rooms away. He closed his eyes and listened closely for any mention of Lucius or Narcissa, not that he cared or anything.

Fred and George filed in, grinning at Sirius. "Nah, dude, it was a total success!"

"Well, Ron did get hit with a Confundus charm – "

"But no harm done, really. If anything, it's an improvement!"

"He's just as clueless as ever, but he's not stressed out about it anymore!"

The twins chuckled a little, and Sirius watched Hermione enter, leading a dazed Ron by the hand.

Sirius smiled a little. "So it all went smoothly?"

"Totally! The evil suckers didn't know what hit them!"

A deep, sarcastic voice cut through their chatter. "I'm so pleased to hear that you all had a pleasant time."

All eyes turned to Snape, still leaning on the doorjamb, sneering at the twins.

Draco felt a shiver go down his spine at his Professor's tone. Snape was about to lash out at the poor unsuspecting fools, and they had no idea. He almost felt bad for them.

"Just a," Snape started, then paused, "_friendly_ suggestion, though. Next time, you might consider _not_ hexing the one who tipped you off. You may find that gratitude is better communicated in other ways."

The twins looked horrified; Fred's mouth hung open slightly.

"Wha – "

But Snape cut them off. "In fact, if you dimwits continue to display your gratitude in said idiotic matter, you'll find said double-agent less willing to risk his life for you in the future."

"Oh, shit! Shit, Professor, I, we – "

"What's that?" Snape mocked, leering at Fred and George. "You're ungrateful little whelps who deserve to suffer from dark poisons, hiding invisibly in their pumpkin juice? Oh, yes. I heartily agree."

"Really, we didn't – " Fred's face was pale now, freckles dark against white skin.

"I know it's difficult for you Weasleys to distinguish people without the obvious red hair, but perhaps it would be in your best interests to _practice_."

George coughed, then offered, meekly, "Honestly, sir – "

But Snape once again cut off all retort. "Hm. I'm sure your excuses are just _fascinating_. However, as I am currently weak from blood loss, I must rest so that I may carry on tomorrow without arousing suspicion." He addressed the whole room, "Good day."

Snape strode straight through the crowd to the front door before turning on his heel and vanishing from the step.

The twins were completely distraught.

Fred cursed quietly. "Bloody hell."

Sirius spoke. "Yes, bloody hell indeed. I know it's hard with the masks and all, but really, you all need to be very careful. A dead Severus Snape means we're totally fucked, and an angry Snape could be even worse. We do not need a repeat of today."

The sober silence lifted as Tonks came through the door, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Everyone had returned. People began smiling again, giddy with success. The boisterous crowd made its way to the kitchen, and a keg of butterbeer was taken down off the shelf.

Fearing that someone would head for the stairs and catch him eavesdropping, Draco turned around and quietly returned to his room.

Sirius remained in the empty foyer, staring out onto the street before closing the door. The happy celebrations in the next room cheered him slightly, but, somehow, it felt wrong. As he turned the many locks on the door, Sirius hoped the injured potions professor was safely back at Hogwarts.


End file.
